


kissing tiny flowers

by dothraki_shieldmaiden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Album: Led Zeppelin III, Alternate Universe - Human, Domestic Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Hurt/Comfort, Led Zeppelin References, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 12:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21075011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dothraki_shieldmaiden/pseuds/dothraki_shieldmaiden
Summary: Dean's playing Led Zeppelin. That's not unusual.But he's playing Led Zeppelin III and that means trouble.





	kissing tiny flowers

Castiel can hear the music from outside the house. In and of itself, that’s not alarming. Dean has a tendency to like his music loud, to the point that Castiel has to remind him multiple times, _Dean we live in the suburbs and some of our neighbors don’t appreciate Metallica blasted through the windows at 10 am_. If he’s in the zone, really in it, Dean would deafen himself before he turned the music down.

Today, Dean is playing Led Zeppelin, which again, not particularly newsworthy. Dean loves the band the way others love their first-born children, and Castiel has yet to see him make it through a seven day period without listening to at least one of their albums once.

But today Dean’s playing _Zeppelin III_ loud enough to echo through the garage, and that’s a big damn problem.

Two years of friendship, four of dating, and eight of marriage, and Castiel knows more than he ever really wanted to about Led Zeppelin. Sometimes, when they’re in a tiff, Dean will roll over in the middle of the night, just to wake Castiel with an inane trivia fact, glorifying in the fact that he doesn’t have a job which requires him to be conscious at 7am. Castiel knows of course, that the band was formed in London in 1968. He knows the names of all the members, as well as their birthdays. He knows that Page usually wrote the music while Plant usually wrote the lyrics to the songs. He knows enough to do well for himself at Led Zeppelin trivia night at The Roadhouse (Dean’s idea), but more importantly than that, Castiel knows Dean.

He knows that Dean listens to _Zeppelin II_ when he’s feeling feisty, he listens to _Zeppelin IV_ when he needs to concentrate, he listens to _Physical Graffiti_ when he’s looking to calm down, and he listens to _Zeppelin III_ when he’s sad.

Not that Dean would put it in terms so blunt. Not that Castiel would ever confront him with this forbidden knowledge of Dean’s coding. But it’s there.

Castiel knows Zeppelin. He knew Zeppelin by the end of their first day together as roommates, Dean nervous and excited at being away from his family for the first time, and Castiel overwhelmed at the prospect of four years of freedom in front of him. He knew Zeppelin when he and Dean bought a dime bag off of Ash and listened to all of their albums while sprawled out over Dean’s bed, staring at the ceiling and bursting into laughter when their eyes met. He knew Zeppelin when _Fool in the Rain_ played in the background as he sat in Dean’s car the beginning of junior year and blurted out _I think that I’m in love with you_ and Dean stared at him for too long of a moment and Castiel thought _Oh shit that’s it, it’s done_, before Dean lunged forward and kissed him senseless. He knew Zeppelin when _Stairway to Heaven_ played in the background the first time he and Dean made love, their gasps and moans becoming part of the melody as they pressed helpless kisses to the other’s skin. He knew Zeppelin as_ _Thank You_ p___layed during their first dance at their wedding. Castiel looked into Dean’s eyes, the eyes of the man he was going to be with forever, and thought,___ _Thank you. Thank you_. ___

And now Dean is listening to Zeppelin III and he’s alone in the house.

Castiel walks in through the garage, into the kitchen, and then the living room. He notes the turntable, spinning away, and the sense of foreboding in his chest grows. Normally when he’s working, Dean prefers to set his Bluetooth to the stereo, so he doesn’t have to get up and continuously change the record. Dean uses the turntable when he wants to appreciate the little things: the way that the fuzz sparks when the needle hits, the slow spin and travel of the songs, the subtle flip from Side A to Side B. Dean uses the turntable when he feels nostalgic, and it’s only a short journey from nostalgia to depression.

The door to Dean’s study is cracked open and Castiel pushes it open further to peer in. Dean is hunched over his desk, fingers tapping against the dark wood. He looks like he’s guarding against an attack from the world.

A small sound from Castiel has Dean looking towards the door. it’s almost painful to watch him plaster on a mask of complacency. “Hey babe,” he greets, and it’s only years of experience that allow Castiel to hear the cracks in his voice. “Where’s the kiddo?”

“Claire’s over at Kaia’s house. She’s having dinner there. We’re supposed to pick her up around 9.”

Dean nods. “I forgot. All right. Um, I haven’t started dinner yet and since Claire’s not here, do you want to just order something? We can try that Indian place–”

“Dean.” Castiel crosses the room in three short steps. “Dean. What’s wrong?” His fingers stroke over the rough stubble on Dean’s cheek, down his neck, to his shoulders. He rubs his thumbs over the exposed vertebrae of Dean’s neck, then over to the stiff muscles of his shoulders. “Don’t tell me that everything’s fine.”

A dissatisfied noise rumbles in Dean’s throat as Castiel nixes his go to response. “But it is,” Dean says, leaning back to look up at Castiel. The top of his head presses into the soft part of Castiel’s lower belly and Castiel gives into the desire to press a soft kiss to Dean’s lips.

“Please,” Castiel asks.

In the background, the song switches over to _That’s the Way. _

_ I don’t know how I’m going to tell you/That I can’t play with you no more… _

_ _ _ _“____It’s stupid.” Familiar with this particular brand of obfuscation, Castiel waits. “It’s just…I was starting on this scene. The one where Sal tells his dad about Alan?” Castiel hums, never ceasing the smooth rub of his thumbs into Dean’s shoulders. “And then I thought, I thought…God, it’s so damn stupid.”

“It’s not,” Castiel murmurs, his lips brushing against Dean’s forehead. “If it’s got you this twisted up, it’s not stupid.”

Dean’s hand reaches up, blindly groping. Castiel obligingly lowers his head, allowing Dean to card his fingers through his hair. Tension bleeds out of Dean’s body as he slumps forward.

_ And yesterday I saw you standing by the river/And weren’t those tears that filled your eyes? _

“I just got to thinking about everything…everything that he never got to do. He never met Claire, never saw Sam get married, never saw…” Dean trails off, but Castiel knows what he was about to say. He never saw our wedding. John Winchester died in their senior year of college, leaving Dean little more than comatose and Castiel with the pieces.

“And the damndest thing is, I don’t know whether he would have been happy or not. My own wedding, and I don’t know whether my dad would have even shown up.”

There it is. There’s the suppurating wound, the decades old hurt, the one that even after all this time refuses to heal. Sometimes Castiel is sorry that John Winchester is dead since Dean still mourns his absence. Sometimes, Castiel is sorry that John Winchester is dead since he wants to punch the man in the face.

But he doesn’t say that to Dean. Not now, when he’s raw and wounded. Castiel noses down to Dean’s temple, pressing kisses against the soft skin. “He would have. He would take Claire out to the shooting range and teach her how to take apart an engine, and she would have loved him.”

He doesn’t know if that’s true. He doesn’t know if John Winchester would have turned up, he doesn’t know if John Winchester would have been happy in his son’s choice of husband. He doesn’t know if they would have been cut off or if John would have embraced his granddaughter with open arms. But the knowing isn’t important. What’s important are Dean’s fingers closing around his wrist, Dean craning his head up to smile at him, this time without the brittle, wavering edge to his smile.

“What do you want for dinner? I know that you’re not wild on pizza, but we haven’t had Thai in a while, so maybe that?”

Castiel hides his smile against the soft hair at Dean’s temple. “Whatever you want,” he murmurs, kissing down Dean’s cheeks until he reaches his mouth. “Whatever you want.”

_ But now’s the time to look and look again at what you see/Is that the way it ought to stay? _

_ That’s the way it oughta be. _

**Author's Note:**

> As always, if you're interested, you can find me [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/dothwrites). I'm awkward but occasionally entertaining.


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